


Awaken What Lays Dormant

by OfSatine



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Battle, Canon - Book, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfSatine/pseuds/OfSatine
Summary: “Mousesack, tell us. What do you see?” She spoke finally, breaking the grave silence that otherwise reigned between Cintra’s councilmen. Now it was she, and her voice, who ruled. As it should always be. “They will be at Marnadal Valley by dawn, Madam.” The druid answered from beneath the bushy beard, lowering his head slightly. Dawn… That meant they only had so many hours to prepare the army… and evacuate the civilians.“How many?” She asked, and for a longer while nobody answered her. “How many?” She repeated her question, more sternly this time. “Twice our forces? Thrice?”The druid shook his head solemnly, knowing that the odds were overwhelming. “Five times our forces. At least.” Although she could feel cold dread set in the pit of her stomach, not a muscle moved on her face. She could not show fear nor weakness - it was her everybody else took their strength from. The Queen was their pillar and if she fell, all else was lost.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Past Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Before The Battle

**Author's Note:**

> A look at how different the story of Ciri and Geralt would be, had Calanthe survived the Fall of Cintra. All the events and characters are based on the canon of the novels, rather than the tv show. Characters and tags will be added as the story progresses.

**1263.**

Calanthe Fiona Riannon, the Lioness of Cintra, sat in her study, over a stack of papers that haven’t been touched in hours, a goblet of red wine in her hand, silver and jeweled, almost completely empty and truly forgotten, as she tapped her nail lightly on an emerald laying upon her chest, one of many heavy stones that made up the necklace she wore, with stones of the same hue as her eyes, and matching perfectly the gown she was wearing. She felt something in the air. Some kind of unreasonable dread filled her lungs and her heart, making every breath to come difficult. She couldn't sleep, even though Eist have long retired to their bedchamber. She sat at her desk, staring out the window, to the sky that was cloudy and without stars, no moon even to illuminate the darkness. It felt as if staring into an inky void, nothing in sight, nothing to rest the eye on. Such an inappropriate weather for a summer night, crickets and birds that would usually play their concert at that hour strangely silent. 

She jumped nearly at the harsh knocking to her door, closing her eyes for a moment, in vain attempting a deep breath. "Come in." She invited, her voice piercing the silence and almost sending her own ears ringing. The messenger who entered was young and skittish, in his mid twenties, shivering, his face that reminded her a little of a scared, trapped rat, pale like paper. They sent him to bring her bad news, there was no question in the Lioness’ mind.  
"Your Majesty…" the boy spoke in a shaking voice. "They're here. Nilfgaard. They are at Amell Pass." 

It took her a moment, to take the information in. She always knew this day would come. The day Nilfgaard got tired of waiting and decided to cross the Marnadal stairs, and take Cintra, as they have taken Ebbing and Nazair and Mettina before, greedily taking land after land with fire and sword, leaving earth soaked with blood on their way. She hoped they would be ready. They weren’t. The army scattered all over the country in various outposts, there was no way she could gather all of them in time to defend the capital. And she knew already that that was where Nilfgaard was headed, burning villages and towns on their way there, murdering the people. Her poor people…  
“Gather the Council. Wake the King. But cause no panic, not yet.” She ordered, knowing she had to keep her head clear. The boy bowed down low, running away to pass her orders along, to wake the castle. There was a battle coming, one they could not avoid anymore and despite her greatest efforts, they had nobody to stand with them and help them in that trying time. Even though Meve was her dear friend, Foltest her godson, and Henselt always spoke of the respect and high regard he held the Lioness in, Calanthe knew that they were alone. None of the southern countries would stand with them, even though Calanthe spoke often and loudly of how if they wanted to stop Nilfgaard, they had to stand as one. Now they were on their own, on the mercy of the cruel invaders. 

She downed whatever was left in her goblet, wiping her red lips with the sleeve of her gown, not very proper, but there were moments she lacked care for manners. Putting out the candles, she looked through the window one last time. This darkness outside… It seemed almost unnatural, almost as if wanted to swallow her whole. She shook her ashen-haired head quickly, to get herself rid of that strange feeling, and left the room.

When she entered the council chamber, the men she called for were there already, loyal to their Queen’s command. The marshal Vissegerd, somehow already in full battle attire, the druid Mousesack - Calanthe’s trusted advisor, the captain of her guard, heads of the old houses and, obviously - her husband. Sir Eist Tuirseach, King of Cintra and Skellige. And her heart. There to offer her comfort with his presence and wisdom, as he always had. She took her place in the highest ornate chair, the one that stood proudly in the very middle of the long table. Eist, who as always sat to her left, snuck his hand beneath the table, to hold hers and squeeze it encouragingly. Gods, how often did she wonder, what did she ever do to deserve this man. And to think that for so many years she’s refused to bind herself to him through marriage. How silly she was being, she understood that now. In the years they’ve been married, he’s rarely brought her anything but happiness. Even when loneliness was sometimes getting the best of her, the man’s heart always calling out to the sea. 

“Mousesack, tell us. What do you see?” She spoke finally, breaking the grave silence that otherwise reigned between Cintra’s councilmen. Now it was she, and her voice, who ruled. As it should always be. “They will be at Marnadal Valley by dawn, Madam.” The druid answered from beneath the bushy beard, lowering his head slightly. Dawn… That meant they only had so many hours to prepare the army… and evacuate the civilians.  
“How many?” She asked, and for a longer while nobody answered her. “How many?” She repeated her question, more sternly this time. “Twice our forces? Thrice?”  
The druid shook his head solemnly, knowing that the odds were overwhelming. “Five times our forces. At least.” Although she could feel cold dread set in the pit of her stomach, not a muscle moved on her face. She could not show fear nor weakness - it was her everybody else took their strength from. The Queen was their pillar and if she fell, all else was lost. She tapped her nails on the armrest of her chair. Calanthe knew they waited for her orders, for her ideas - she was after all the Queen of Victory, Ard Rhena, who had never lost a battle. Her military genius was renewed and spoken of across the continent and on the Isles of Skellige, as well. But she had no delusions. There wasn’t a way they could win this battle. Not without the other southern countries, and especially not unprepared as they were. 

“Vissegerd.” She addressed the Marshal, who lowered his greying head in sign of respect, and that he listens. “Take a thousand men, evacuate the city and every town, village and house you pass by on your way to the other side of Yaruga. Children and women, those who cannot fight for themselves. And let them take what they value most with them.” She commanded, and although the man did not like the sound of his queen’s orders, he daren’t refuse. Then, the Lioness turned to the Lords, nodding at them in a way that could only mean one thing. To prepare for battle. And a bloody one, no doubt. 

They soon left, leaving her alone with Eist who, all this time, did not release her hand underneath the table, his thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles, hoping to give her the strength he knew she needed. Not that she had no strength of her own, but someone like her, on whose shoulders the wellbeing of an entire Kingdom laid, could always use more. “You have a plan, don’t you?” He asked, causing her lips to curl in a rather sour smile. Oh, she did have one, but it wasn’t one that would end in victory. So she didn’t answer his question, instead asking her own.  
“Skellige? Are the ships on their way?” The man nodded his head, these deep blue eyes piercing a hole in her soul. And she looked right back into them, wishing to etch them into her memory, to drown in them as she had ever since the day they first met. The day she will always think of as one of the happiest in her life. “Good.” She said, leaning in over the chair to press her lips into his, with tenderness and care, pouring all the love she had for him in her heart into it. If it was their last day together, she wished to make it count. The kiss became heated soon, deepened by the King’s needy lips, as soon as he understood, or perhaps accepted, how dire the situation they found themselves in truly was. That there was hardly any hope for them, for Cintra. After all, he had always known - that feeling of impending doom always looming over him, that dire knowledge that tragedy awaited him in Cintra. But even the most terrible death, the most horrid fate was worth the years he had spent with his beloved Calanthe, the most beautiful of them all. No fate was worse than being away from her. Their lungs soon burned due to lack of air, but they still refused to let go of each other, drinking each other in, hoping they could get enough, Calanthe’s long and pale fingers tangling into the Skelliger’s long mane, their foreheads touching when they let go finally, both panting and gasping for breath.  
“We need to get ready.” She was the first to speak, although not without difficulty, dreading the moment they will have to well and truly part ways.  
“I will fight for you. Beside you. Always, my Queen.” He said, and she knew that he meant it, from the bottom of his heart. 

The castle was long awake, solemn silence and hushed tones, promises exchanged by lovers and families, tearful goodbyes and fear slowly settling into the hearts of the people of Cintran royal court. Her silver armour had been prepared for her, her handmaidens helping her out of the emerald green gown and assisting her as she put the heavy steel on. It’s been years since she last felt the weight on it upon her body and, truth be told, she did not miss the feeling. As one of the girls was tying her long, ashen-grey hair, making sure it would not fall into her face and obstruct her vision in the middle of a fight, while still making it presentable. Fit for a queen, even if it would be hidden beneath a helmet. The door opened, and the sight that greeted the Lioness was a beloved freckled face, huge green eyes shining with fear and confusion in her Cub’s face. The girl was barely past her tenth year, young and silly still, but truly she was Calanthe’s whole heart. She seemed not to mind the fact she was in her nightgown still, or that her little feet were bare upon the cold stone floor.  
“Grandmamma? What’s happening?” Ciri asked quietly, allowing herself into the room, and Calanthe brought herself to give the child the warmest smile she could muster in a circumstance such as this, lowering herself slightly, pulling both of her hands out towards the girl. There was no hesitation from her granddaughter, before she took a few quick leaps and found herself in the Queen’s tender and warm embrace, even though it felt so foreign now, with all that metal between them.  
“Why are you awake?”  
“How could I be asleep? Everybody is running around and… they seem scared.” Her sweet Cub, always so incredibly clever. She wasn’t going to hide the truth from her, Ciri deserved to know. She might still be a child, but she was not blind nor stupid. So the Queen nodded her head, putting a gloved hand to her granddaughter’s cheek, thumb brushing over her cheekbone gently, as she did when Cirilla was little, when she would count her freckles.  
“Nilfgaard is here.” Calanthe murmured, and watched the girl’s eyes go wide with fear and confusion. Poor child knew no war, not yet, at least… “And we are going to battle.” She said, and Cirilla assumed her stubborn face. A face Calanthe so often saw in her own reflection.  
“Do you have to go?” She asked, reaching for her grandmother’s hand, squeezing it tightly with worry and fear that, even though she tried to hide, she never quite could from Calanthe’s watchful eye.  
“My little darling… One day, when you are Queen, you will understand. That there is nothing in this world, that gives the people more hope than their beloved monarch, fighting alongside them, spilling their own blood for them.” She said softly, and at the mention of blood being spilled, Cirilla’s eyes hazed over with tears, nearly breaking the Lioness’ brave heart right there, on the spot. She pulled her granddaughter into a hug once more, quietly wishing to all the Gods above, that the messages she had sent to Lyria and Temeria, to Verden and Kaedwen would make it in time, and at least one of their so-called friends would come to their aid in the moment of need.  
“Then I shall go with you!” Ciri said, straightening her back and puffing out her cheeks to make herself appear bigger, to which her grandmother shook her head immediately.  
“This is not an option.”  
“I can fight with a sword!”  
“In the playground, not the battlefield.” Calanthe’s voice had been perhaps overly harsh, but she knew the numbers. She knew that whatever would transpire in the Marnadal Valley would hardly be called a battle. At least twenty thousand savage soldiers wearing black armour awaited them, sorcerers raining fire from above. Gladly, that moment of anger seemed to have been enough to make Ciri drop the idea completely.  
“Will you win?” The girl asked, her voice quiet and on the verge of tears, and Calanthe once more chose honesty, shaking her head lightly, causing the Cub to whimper in fear and then sob, clutching her beloved grandmother’s armoured waist even tighter. This time, no amount of whispers and soothing words would calm her. This time, there was a war coming - lives at stake. Everything Ciri had ever known, everything she’s ever loved… They both knew all of it was about to change, to disappear, and as painful as it was, there was no running away from it. Between a beautiful lie and an ugly truth, Calanthe would always choose the latter. One last time, she pressed her lips to Cirilla’s forehead, hoping her and her army could hold back Nilfgaard long enough for the castle to be evacuated and long enough for her beloved child, the last she had left of her Pavetta, to be taken away, far away south, to safety. She let go of her, leaving the sobbing girl in the dark room with her handmaidens, as she took the crowned helmet in her hands, looking into it, at her own reflection. tired and worried… did everyone else see it as much as she herself had? And did they still believe in her and put their trust in her, despite seeing it?

The main courtyard was full of people, not only those of her army, but also those who were not soldiers, but owned an armour and handled a sword well enough, and had enough courage to stand by the Lioness and fight for their homeland. The beautiful Cintra. Lush and fertile soil, that would soon be soaked with the blood of its people… Calanthe looked over them, trying to take in the numbers with her eye, but finally gave up on this task, turning instead to Vissegerd.  
“How many did we gather?”  
“Not even ten thousand, Your Majesty.” The man was quick to answer, his voice betraying nothing. “Are you certain you want me to take a thousand?”  
“I am certain. The people need protection as they cross Yaruga. Start evacuation, now.” She ordered, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand. And then, she gripped the reins of her horse, climbing onto its back without anybody’s help, making it turn so that she could face her people. Some faces looking at her with admiration, some worried, some determined. She found many young boys, and many women, that she did not doubt were as capable as any other man they stood among. She nodded her head, and silence fell all around her, everybody waiting for her words. 

"My loyal men…” She begun her speech, as soon as she had their attention. “Today, I won't lead you to victory. Today, we are not going for glory. Nilfgaard knocks on our door and we are not prepared. But…” Nobody dared speak, not even a dog barked in the distance, as her voice carried over the courtyard and beyond. “Each and every one of us, as we stand here, has someone we care for within the walls of this city. And if they breach these walls... The people we care for will die. So follow me to battle. But do not think of victory, rather of your mothers and fathers, wives, husbands and children. Think of the ill and the weak that are being lead out of Cintra and know that the longer we stand, the more of them will live. We will not win. Most of us will die. But I am ready to die by your side. I am ready to spill my blood. And I hope... that although we go to die, you will find it in yourselves to forgive me. For I have failed my oath. I have failed to protect you." These last words were perhaps filled with the most emotion, coming straight from her heart that broke and bled for her beloved Kingdom, the one she swore before Gods to protect. Her people. Her children. 

She turned away from her men then, leaving them standing behind her back, feeling their united strength and determination fuel her own spirit with courage. She gave one last glance of emerald green eyes to the side, to Eist who sat on his horse next to her, ready to fight for his love and her country. To the death, if that was the Gods’ will. Then the Lioness, with a heart pounding bravely within her chest rose her gloved hand, and as she lowered it, heavy wings of the southern gate opened, showing a sight both beautiful and dreadful. A beautiful sunrise in the east, the symbol of hope, painting the sky pink and yellow. And to the south - smoke and tongues of fire, from the villages heavy Nilfgaardian boots stomped over already.


	2. Battle of Marnadal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guess who.” She chuckled, bringing her hands to his, touching them gently.  
> “There is only one man brave enough to approach the Lioness from behind.” His hands slowly slid down along her body, to her shoulders and then along her sides, until they rested on her hips, her own palms never quite releasing them, and then she felt his breath on her neck. She tilted her head to the side, allowing his lips to brush over her skin with tenderness and reverence, a soft sigh escaping her at the feeling.  
> “Gods, did I miss you.” He murmured, and that gave her a mischievous idea.  
> Gracefully, she slid out of his grip, facing him for a moment, her hands resting on his broad chest and their lips almost-almost touched, but then she quickly stepped away.  
> “If you missed me so… You must first find me.” She said and with a playful smile, ran into the tall hedge maze, her emerald green gown blending almost completely with the surrounding greenery.  
> “You siren…” Eist said, but he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a quick and short update. From this point on, the chapters will be getting longer, but as they say - you gotta do it quick, like a bandaid. Enjoy the read and the next chapter will be where the story actually begins to be different from the canon events of the novels.

Heavy hooves of horses galloped south, where the smoke and the fire and the cries were coming from. Cries of women defiled and tortured, of men forced to watch and murdered, and the closer they were to these sounds, the more anger did the lioness feel. For they were all her children, the people that she swore to defend, and to helplessly watch them fall victim of these cruel savages pained her heart. She remembered still the stories of Ebbing. Of people burned alive, women raped to death, she remembered how much it hurt Roegner to hear those stories. His entire family was either murdered or taken into slavery that night, and it was something Calanthe wished upon none of her subjects. 

The valley was a good place for battle. A huge open clearing, with no villages nor even trees in sight, only a river running nearby, all the way through and by the city of Cintra, by the capital itself. Calanthe brought her steed to a halt, allowing her infantry to catch up to her and set themselves in formation behind her, a couple thousand horses of her cavalry huffing impatiently. And it was then that she saw them - a swarm of black soldiers coming down the hill. Seemingly endless numbers, with long, heavy pykes and halberds. She rose her hand, giving the archers and the mages a sign to prepare.  
“Fire!” She shouted the order, and a rain of arrows and fire poured down upon the Nilfgaardian infantry. Some of them falling, but not many. Nothing, compared to what was still left - and they kept coming, always when she thought that no more could possibly come into her sight from behind the hill, she was proven wrong. So she drew her sword.  
“For your Queen, and for your country!” Eist yelled, drawing his own weapon as well, pointing it forward, and as he did, the horses and the men charged into battle. 

Calanthe swung her sword from the back of her horse until the animal unavoidably fell, cut down by enemy blades. As always, she was methodical in her movements. Going straight for the kill, never swinging her sword when she wasn’t certain that it will be lethal, saving strength for what she knew would be the longest battle in her life. There was no cutting heads, such a blow requiring too much energy, the Lioness fought cautiously, but elegantly - shield raised to the level of her chest, protecting the most vulnerable parts of her body. She was a good warrior, an experienced one, although her armour soon earned a couple of dents from the blows she could not dodge, nor deflect. 

The sun was raising higher in the sky, travelling up and then down. Her muscles ached, her men fell all around her, and the men from Skellige were still nowhere to be seen. They were losing, that much was clear, their forces already significantly thinned out, and while the black corpses littered the field of Marnadal as well, there was still so many of them standing. “Eist! Eist, Skellige! Where are they?!” She called out, hoping her husband would hear her amongst the screams and the clanking of steel. Even though the battle was hectic, he never lost her out of his sight - he guarded her, she knew it. He was ready to throw his own life on the line, if it was her who would be about to receive a lethal blow. 

A man she just crossed blades with fell upon a well-aimed blow of her sword, and she used that moment to glance to her side, where Eist had cut down another one of the Black Ones, soon to be swarmed by three more. They were like pests, seemingly. Where you kill one, so many more appear… “There is a storm, Calanthe!” He answered, and the Lioness’ emerald green eyes traveled towards the west, where dark clouds had gathered. The Gods seemed to be against them… “Calanthe!” She heard him say her name, and her head turned. Their eyes met, for a brief moment. His - tired and worried, deep blue like the seas he had so beloved. She didn’t see the exact moment it happened, blinking briefly, but when she looked at him again… An arrow stuck out of his eye, half of his face covered with blood, and his lips parted slightly, as if a sentence he wanted to speak out to her had been cut violently in half. He fell to his knees, then to his back…  
“NO!!!” 

**1250.**

The day was hot, but a pleasant breeze from the west carried with itself the scent of the sea. Calanthe took a slow stroll across her gardens, Pavetta reading somewhere in the shade of the trees, young handmaidens chasing each other with joyous squeals. Day like this could only be made better by…

A gasp left her lips when big, warm hands suddenly covered her emerald green eyes from behind, lips immediately curling upwards in a smile. Oh, she knew that touch. She knew that scent, and she knew the sound of that voice. The voice that said;  
“Guess who.” She chuckled, bringing her hands to his, touching them gently.  
“There is only one man brave enough to approach the Lioness from behind.” His hands slowly slid down along her body, to her shoulders and then along her sides, until they rested on her hips, her own palms never quite releasing them, and then she felt his breath on her neck. She tilted her head to the side, allowing his lips to brush over her skin with tenderness and reverence, a soft sigh escaping her at the feeling.  
“Gods, did I miss you.” He murmured, and that gave her a mischievous idea.  
Gracefully, she slid out of his grip, facing him for a moment, her hands resting on his broad chest and their lips almost-almost touched, but then she quickly stepped away.  
“If you missed me so… You must first find me.” She said and with a playful smile, ran into the tall hedge maze, her emerald green gown blending almost completely with the surrounding greenery.  
“You siren…” Eist said, but he followed. 

Whenever he made a turn, just a glimpse of ashen grey hair greeted him only to disappear behind another green wall, but the sound of her steps and soft chimes of her laugh summoned him towards her. Finally, in a dead end, in the very heart of the maze, he found her. Hands wrapping around her thin waist, he pulled her close to his body, and claimed her lips with his, having missed the taste of them in the months he had spent at sea, away from her. How he wished she finally said yes. There was nothing he desired more in this world than to be able to call this woman his wife. Alas, she was stubborn. And while she had given him her body and seemed to have given him her heart, she still guarded her hand so very strongly. Gently, they fell upon the soft straw, her pale legs wrapped around his hips, joined in a moment of passion increased only by the mutual longing.  
“I love you.” He hummed against her lips, driving himself within her, her long nails scratching the exposed skin of his backside, digging into the firm flesh.  
“I love you.” She said back, and truly, he never felt more alive, than he had in that moment. 

**1263.**

Gods had watched over her, surely. If they hadn’t, she would be no doubt laying dead atop her husband’s cold body, cut down by the enemy who cared not for her grief. Yet there she was. The world around her seemed to have forgotten of her existence as she held her husband's head in her lap, as she watched the light disappear from these eyes she grew to love beyond reason. 

Slowly, she rose her head, ashen grey hair now fallen down after she’s throw away her helmet, sticking to her tear-stained face. The men were scattering, dropping their weapons, running away, far away from the battlefield, towards the City. The sun was still high in the sky and she knew, if she gave up now, if she called retreat, Nilfgaard would no doubt catch right up with the refugees and cut them all down, every single one of them. Right by her side, a banner laid. Three majestic golden lions on a background of royal blue. If she gave up now, Eist’s death was in vain.

So she gripped the handle of the standard and brought it up, high above her head. “Whoever able, follow me!” She called out, some of the people who were on the retreat stopping dead in their tracks. “Not for victory, but for glorious death! Let history sing songs about this battle! For your children, for all you’ve ever held dear! And for me! Your Lioness!” With gestures of her hand, she orchestrated the men. They stood on both sides of her, a single line of defence, long enough to reach the river, shoulder next to shoulder, sword next to sword. “Shields up!” Calanthe called out, and the men listened, the panic that shook them after the King’s dead now gone completely. The Queen still stood, and so did Cintra. “Don’t let a single black one through!” 

They were pushed back, step by step, but they stood, cutting whoever attempted to break the line, behind their backs the wounded retreating within city walls. City walls that were not properly defended, as they needed every blade and every shield they could muster on the battlefield. In the sky, the sun had begun to head towards the west, slowly descending upon the gruesome scene. Once beautiful valley, littered now with corpses, ground soaked with blood the smell of which lingered heavy in the air. And yet they stood, and they fought, a battle each one of them knew was lost. 

Calanthe and her knights remained ahead of the rest, defending the rear and making sure the slow yet unavoidable retreat was safe for whoever still remained alive. She had no time to grieve, she was in no place to think of her beloved, fallen and left behind in the valley, for her never to lay eyes again on his handsome face, never to be held by his tender hands. Her muscles had long gone past aching, the weight of the weapon and the armour putting a strain on her body. 

Recklessly, she charged forward, seeing what she thought was an opportunity to break their ranks. With a savage cry, she plunged into the infantry, wanting every one of them dead. Wanting every drop of her people’s blood to be paid for tenfold. A sharp gasp escaped her, when the pain in her side hit her. A pyke had made it through her armour and into her flesh, right below her rips, the wound deep no doubt, and the shape of the weapon ensuring it was mortal. She fell back when it was carelessly yanked out, the blade covered with her blood, splattering some of it on the ground. Wherever a drop of it fell, soon, small purple flowers would start to bloom - a proof of her heritage. Two men standing behind her gripped her with their strong arms. Two loyal knights that fought for their monarch, one of them clearly noticing the severity of her injuries.

“Your Majesty, call for retreat, I beg of you.” He said, and Calanthe cast a glance of green eyes towards the sky that was slowly getting darker. She nodded permission, and the men took it upon themselves to roar the orders, to pass her orders along to their fellow soldiers. All listen, even though not all of them had seen their Queen getting wounded. 

Carried away from the battlefield, a hand pressed against the gaping wound, the Lioness turned her head to the side, and she saw a sight both beautiful and dreadful. A beautiful sunset in the west, the symbol of end, painting the sky purple and red. And to the south - a black sea of steel, helmets with wings of the birds of prey, approaching her beloved Cintra, about to swallow her land and her Kingdom, as her men retreated behind the southern gate.


	3. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Make sure every mother has a blade to let their child go without fear or pain.” She started, “Take your own swords and grant your wives, mothers and sisters mercy of a painless death.” Each one of the men still alive and loyal to her saw it in her eyes and knew that the orders she was giving were given out of love to them. Mercy was truly what they were. “Then, if you so choose, you may fall upon them yourselves. But please, for the love of Gods.” She rose her emerald green eyes to look at them, each one of them still completely silent, awaiting her final words. “One of you, take your blade and end my suffering.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and kind comments! I hope the progression of the story from this point on will be interesting for you to read. I am a little bit of a geek when it comes to lore of the universe, and specifically Cintra, so if any points of the plot are confusing, I will be happy to clarify and answer any questions. Enjoy the read!

**1232.**

The air around her was moist and smelled of mold, the princess had not seen the light of day in what felt like forever, but she couldn’t bring herself to move, completely numb. Her beloved father, King Dagorad of Cintra, had left this world so unexpectedly. And she still remembered herself, a silly little girl, asking him to let the physicians take a look at his injury. Just a single look. 

“I am a big man, Cali. I will be fine.” He kept repeating, and yet the worst of Calanthe’s fears had come true. The wound had gotten infected and in barely four days her father had closed his eyes for the last time. All through his sickness, she did not release his hand. A day, a night and a day, she sat by his side as he was eaten by the fever, moaning in pain, shedding salty tears of despair as the physicians threw their arms up in defeat.

“Cali, my little flower. You are so strong, so brilliant. Remember one thing - you are the blood of Raven. Let no man ever think he is more fit to rule our people than you are.” He told her that day, big hand resting against her freckled cheek, wiping away the tears that stained it. The people… the people her father had loved so much, the people her father had helped for most of his life, and whose hearts he won with kindness and care. She would love them as he had, she swore him that much.

Now, sitting on a hard bench nearby a closed coffin, she pulled her knees underneath her chin. The coronation was being prepared and soon she, a girl aged fourteen, would be Queen. A mother to the people.  
“Calanthe.” A familiar voice tore her away from her thoughts and the girl rose her bloodshed eyes to cast a glance at a woman barely only illuminated by the light of torches, a thin golden crown sparkling in her silvery grey hair.  
“Mother…” Adalia, the Queen-Fairy of Cintra, also known as the Seer, gave her daughter a cold look. Were her eyes ever anything but cold, Calanthe found herself wondering.  
“It is time to go.”  
“Go? Go where?”  
“Away from here.” The woman stated matter-of-factly, as if the answer had been obvious, as if Calanthe had been stupid to ask such questions in the first place. “With your father gone, there is nothing for us here.” At these cruel words, Calanthe nearly jumped off of the bench, shaking her head.  
“No! I am a daughter of the house of Raven! Cintra is mine by right!” She argued, her mother’s eyes suddenly becoming sharp.  
“By right, perhaps. But not by law. By law, in Cintra women don’t inherit, you and I both know it. They will marry you off to some Lord, either foolish enough to be controlled by them or smart enough to control you.” Calanthe’s eyes narrowed, angry sparks dancing within them. “Do what you will,” Adalia continued, “but I am leaving this place. With Dagorad gone, these Cintran savages will go right back to the debauchery that ruled this court back when Corbett sat on the throne.” Her mother’s mocking tone only fueled the princess’ anger, the need to be defiant growing ever stronger in her heart. She had always been a rather unruly child, and while her father had always seemed to adore that about her, it never failed to put her and her mother at odds.  
“I am not going. I will be Queen. I will rule.”  
“Calanthe… you are meant for so much more than that. You can be so much more.”  
“I will be more.” _More than you ever thought I could be_ , she thought. 

**1263.**

They carried her into the chamber in a hurry, two of her handmaidens following the knight who brought her in, Mousesack walking in right behind them, wanting to see the damage. The two girls helped get the dented chest plate off of her, and one of them let out a miserable whimper of pain mixed with fear at the sight of the wound. And so much blood. She paled, and had to step aside to take a deep breath. 

“Madam… It’s deep. Very deep.” Mousesack said in a solemn tone, Calanthe’s sight blurry with pain and due to loss of blood, but she could see on his face an expression she had never seen before. One of true fear. So it was bad…  
“Just give me something for the pain.” She demanded. In her state,there was no way for her to be evacuated out of the castle and out of the City, and once Nilfgaardians pierced the walls, she would be dead either way. The Lioness hardly feared death, but she did hope that before it came to claim her, she would at least have done everything she wished to… 

The night was getting late and tiredness was getting the best of her. Her whole body ached, and not only because of the wound, but nearly twelve hours spent in full armour on the battlefield as well. She wished she could catch a bit of sleep, but alas, how could one sleep accompanied by the sounds of catapults and mages throwing spells, bringing down the walls that surrounded the capital. 

The door sprung open and Cirilla ran into the room, once more dressed in little beyond her night gown. The sounds of war must have awoken her poor Cub.  
“Grandmamma!!” The child yelled shrilly, running up to the bed and falling to her knees by its side. “You’re bleeding… Oh no, what happened? Grandmamma, does it hurt terribly?” She asked, tears immediately filling her big green eyes, and Calanthe reached out her hand, to let the girl hold it with both of hers, a thumb brushing against Ciri’s soft skin, trying not to smear blood on it. 

“We lost the battle, my little darling.” She said quietly, and she could feel the child begin to tremble in fear. But she did not stop speaking. Cirilla needed to know what was going to happen, she deserved to know. “Eist had fallen on the battlefield, and we are under a siege.” That was when the girl started crying, crawling into the bed beside her grandmother, snuggling into her tightly, so gentle and careful not to cause her any more pain.  
And Calanthe held her, humming to her quietly, until Ciri fell back asleep by her side. 

“Skellige? Where are they?” the Queen asked in a hushed tone, not wanting to awake her precious grandchild.  
“The storm is still brewing, Madam. They cannot leave the ports.” Mousesack replied, lowering his head solemnly.  
“Lyria? Temeria? Kaedwen? Anybody?” If they could just hold on for long enough so that any of the armies Calanthe had asked for help to come and rescue them, come and rescue her Cub…  
“We… don’t know if the messengers reached them, Madam. There had been no response from either.”

So she waited. She waited and she held on to hope, even though as hours, and then days passed, as her beautiful town was razed to the ground and anyone who hadn’t evacuated murdered brutally, the castle remaining the only stronghold thanks to the protection of their mages. Calanthe never once gave up hope. 

Ciri remained by her side, holding her hand, and what a familiar image that was. A little girl with freckled cheeks and teared eyes, holding onto someone who was slipping away from life, crying and beginning and promising things she couldn’t promise. Just like Calanthe herself, over thirty years prior, had held her father’s hand for three days and three nights, as fever ate at him and infection spread through his body as it was now spreading through hers. 

The fourth day had come, the defences now cracked and about to break, and only then did Calanthe accept that there was no hope for her or her court. So she gathered her knights, the best that were still alive, all of them lamenting over their beloved Queen’s fate and suffering. “I want you all to swear to me, that you will give up your life to protect this girl.” She demanded,and they all gave her what she asked for - a blood oath that bound each of them to protect the Lion Cub, the blood of the Lioness, their future and their hope. 

“You need to go now, child. There are tunnels underneath the castle, it is getting dark, they won’t see you in the night. You need to go, you need to run, far north.” Ciri could feel the coldness of her grandmother’s skin when they held hands, shaking her head frantically, denying the inevitable, refusing to accept the truth that was right in front of her. Calanthe had been all she had left - her mother and father died when she was little, her grandpapa murdered in battle, she could not lose her too.  
“No, no, no, no, no. Please, grandmamma, you have to go with me. Please, I can’t go without you, please.” She kept repeating, but Calanthe was unflinching. Ciri had to leave. Slowly, she slid a ring off of her finger - the biggest one she still wore, and squeezed it into her granddaughter’s hand.  
“Don’t be silly about it, Ciri. Don’t hold onto it for sentiment. If you ever find yourself hungry or cold, sell it.” She said, and although the girl held onto her strongly, sobbing and screaming, the knights and the barons dragged her away forcibly, Calanthe letting go of her hand, no matter how hard she selfishly wanted to hold onto it. 

The screams of her granddaughter calling out to her were still echoing in the corridor when the Queen closed her tired eyes, allowing a few tears to slip down her cheeks, praying briefly to the Goddess Melitele, to keep watch over the girl, to deliver her to safety. Solemn silence once more fell around them once this terrible ordeal was done. Once her Cub was torn away from her side and sent off into the cruel world. They were running out of time. Calanthe knew the Nilfgaardians’ cruelty. She knew what would be done to her, or anybody they would find alive within the castle. So she turned to these that were still by her side, about to give her final, most dreadful orders.

“Make sure every mother has a blade to let their child go without fear or pain.” She started, “Take your own swords and grant your wives, mothers and sisters mercy of a painless death.” Each one of the men still alive and loyal to her saw it in her eyes and knew that the orders she was giving were given out of love to them. Mercy was truly what they were. “Then, if you so choose, you may fall upon them yourselves. But please, for the love of Gods.” She rose her emerald green eyes to look at them, each one of them still completely silent, awaiting her final words. “One of you, take your blade and end my suffering.” 

As their Lioness uttered these words, the knights and the barons arose protest. None of them dared, none of them wanted to raise a hand against her. Queen Calanthe had always been wise and just, kind and attentive to their needs, many of them she built from the ground up, as she did Cintra, upon the foundations left for her by her father. None wanted to spill the blood of the Cerbins, lest they be cursed for all eternity.  
“Then give me something sharp, I shall do it myself.” Calanthe spat out, upset by their cowardice.  
“Your Majesty, please. They won’t dare kill you. Who knows, perhaps they will nurse you back to health and then…”  
“And then what? Keep me as a slave, or prisoner of war? Use my head to bargain with Crach and gain control of the Isles? Just do what I ask of you, damnit!” 

They stood as they did, none moving to carry out the order given, nor to offer her a dagger or a sword, so she could open her veins herself or dig it into the wound and part ways with this world faster. She waited, expectantly, eyes traveling between them, and when she realised they wouldn’t change their minds, she begun to rose from the bed with a grunt of pain and frustration combined.  
“Your Majesty..!”  
“Don’t you dare touch me!” She screamed, and the man who attempted to hold her backed off immediately. She paid them no more mind. She’d do what had to be done herself. Leaning against a wall for support, she walked, despite the pain in her side bringing sparks to her eyes with each step she took, her hand pressed against the wound that opened up again with the movement, seeping blood through the bandages and onto her skin. 

She nearly crawled up the stairs of the tower, all the way up, to the battlement, and swung the doors open, walking onto the wall, arms coming to wrap around one of the pillars for support. She looked down, at the main courtyard, littered with bodies and soaked with blood. She looked out at the city, ash and scent of burned bodies filling her lungs. Her beloved, beautiful gardens turned to ash, and even her beloved old linden tree, where the swing was, cut down and used as wood for funeral pyres. Her once beautiful Cintra, built to glory with her own hands, turned to ash and dust in a matter of days…

**1256.**

Holding the skirt of a green dress up, Calanthe ran down the stairs, across the main hall and into the courtyard, just as two horses entered the castle ground - one carrying her dear husband, and the other Duny, her son in law. Right behind the two men, a carriage entered her sight, and a smile of joy spread her lips. As soon as the door swung open, a tiny little girl jumped off, running towards her with a happy squeal.  
“Grandmamma!!” Calanthe caught Cirilla in her arms, picking her up and spinning with her a little, before littering her freckled face with soft, gentle kisses.  
“Oh how I missed you, my little darling.” Not long behind the girl, a young woman stepped off, eyes lowered, ashen grey hair tied in two thick braids. 

“Pavetta!” The Lioness greeted her only daughter, leaning down to allow her to kiss herself on the cheek, the little imp that was her granddaughter refusing to let go of her neck, dangling her legs in the air. “Did you have a good time in Skellige?”  
The younger woman nodded her head, before speaking quietly, but loudly enough for her mother to hear;  
“Courtly atmosphere can be so very overwhelming, but I’m happy to be home.” she said. They were back just in time for the summer. The cherries and the apples would soon be ready to eat straight from the trees, the gardens in full bloom always their favourite place to rest. Especially the white-painted gazebo with ratan chairs and a malachite table, quiet enough for Pavetta to read in undisturbed, while Ciri and the rest of the children ran around, chasing each other and playing games.

They spent that day in the gardens as well, Ciri chasing the bees around, while Calanthe carried a quiet and simple conversation with Pavetta, her daughter’s participation as always scarce and dreamy, but she didn’t really mind. She knew her daughter, and the girl had always been a little different, a little quiet, but never less loved because of that. Suddenly, Ciri ran into the gazebo, hiding something behind her back, a wide grin spread across her lips.  
“Grandmamma! For you!” She said, pulling her little hands forward and presenting her grandmother with a beautifully made flower crown. 

**1263.**

The memory of that beloved face, freckled and blushed, staring up at her with a grin that was missing a tooth or two suddenly plagued her mind. The sound fo a joyous squeal, laughing children, the scent of flowers and fresh fruit. Everything she’s come to love so much. Looking up to the sky, obstructed from vision by a cloud of soot and smoke, the Lioness uttered a single sentence;  
“Gods, keep her in your graces.” But before she leapt off the battlement, before she descended towards the stones that paved her courtyard, to meet with her beloved Eist, with her daughter, and with those who had fallen for her in the battle, a sound of magic swirling behind her caught her attention.  
“Calanthe.” A voice that caused a shiver to run down her spine…  
The Queen looked back, towards a portal of green and purple magic opening just in time to see a woman dressed in white, with long silvery hair walk through it. 

“Come.” The woman said, Calanthe’s lips falling open, and then closing, and then falling open again, as she couldn’t find the words to describe how she felt. Ten years had she not seen this woman, and now… “Come with me. Quick.” She repeated, and finally, the single word left the Lioness’ throat;  
“Mother…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise the updates will always be that frequent. For now, I have a lot of ideas and inspiration for this story, so I will try to keep it dynamic, but a chapter a day may finally overwhelm me at some point.


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